Looking back to that summer I’m still surprised they let me go. It was my dad’s idea. I didn’t know that he trusted me that much. I suppose it also showed he loved me.
When he first told me I’d be taking a trip across the Atlantic, alone, to spend four weeks with relatives I could hardly believe him. I mean, the guy barely let me out of the house alone, he was that scared that I’d come to some harm.
Silly really, that he felt like that. I was 12, not some little kid. Although of course I was a kid, really. I realize that now I’m older. But still, at the time it felt like I was being punished for growing up.
Those four weeks were wonderful. I got to do what I wanted, pretty much. Of course I didn’t equate that freedom with being on holiday: it was being away from dad that gave me that freedom. At least that’s how it felt.
Four weeks of being in charge of your own destiny can really change the way you see things. I knew that when I got back home my relationship with my dad would change. I wouldn’t put up with him telling me what to do anymore. I’d show him who was boss.
Inevitably, the four weeks passed much faster than I wanted and it was time to go home. I felt like I was stepping out of a dream back into reality. And I wanted the dream to last a while longer. Boarding the plane felt so oppressive. I knew I’d be going back to discipline and structure and boredom. God, why did the old man have to be so strict?
Arriving was hard work. All the queuing and waiting. I’d be glad to get home, really, and get into my own bed. The overnight flight had left me very tired and irritable.
Scanning the faces I looked for dad’s tired face. The stewardess wouldn’t leave me until she’d officially handed me over to him and of course she didn’t know what he looked like. So I had to find him. But I couldn’t.
My aunty was there, looking concerned. Didn’t really make a lot of sense, but maybe she’d come down for the ride? Anyway, we walked over and the stewardess and talked to her. They moved away from me to talk, but I didn’t mind. Old women weren’t very interesting. They must have been at least thirty.
The stewardess walked away, looking back at me. She must have had some kind of crush on me because she looked kind of wistful as she moved into the distance. Well, I was kind of grown up for my age.
‘Hi Tom. Your dad couldn’t make it so that’s why I’ve come to collect you.’
Ha! Typical. The guy was always putting work first. He probably had something important to do, like staple a report together. Anyway, at least it meant I didn’t have to see him just yet so there was some justice in the world.
When we got home dad’s car was in the driveway so at least he’d got back from work early enough to see me return.
Inside mum was sitting red-eyed and looking very small. She’d been crying.
‘Tom’, she cried, as she rushed over and hugged me.
Something wasn’t right.
‘Tom. Love. I’m afraid dad was very ill last night. He was rushed into hospital.’
‘Why? What’s happened? Is he ok?’
I didn’t know that I cared that much, but my face felt wet and I realized that tears were running down it.
‘Oh, son. I’m sorry, son. Dad’s gone, love. Dad’s passed.’
I could hardly make out the words through the thick sobbing. I wasn’t quite sure what mum had said. Where had he gone? Had he gone off with another woman?
‘We’ll go see him in a little while. You can see him.’
The enormity of what she’d said began to drift through my brain like a rolling fog in winter. It was a cold, icy presence that moved slowly.
I don’t remember much after that. I was too numb. I know we visited the morgue and I felt his forehead. I’ve never felt such terrible icy cold before. There was a total absence of life, of warmth. It was a dread chill that was shocking in its depth.
The next few days went quickly. I don’t suppose anyone got any proper sleep, but I found it very hard because I was still jetlagged. Strange how quiet the house was without him. I always thought he wasn’t around much, but now he wasn’t there I felt his absence. Literally felt his absence.
I’m sure I was shielded from a lot of the detail. Adults think they have to protect children so much, don’t they? Massive heart attack. I heard that by eavesdropping. Wouldn’t listen. I heard that to my face. Overweight. I knew that from just looking at him. It was easy to piece together what had happened. When you’re grieving you can’t help leaking information. It comes out like little bullets in random sequence. For years he’d been unwell, but still worked the long hours and ate to excess. He was an accident waiting to happen. That’s what I heard them say. How right they were, all that time. And how glad that they were now proved right.
For my own part there was sadness tinged with relief, quite honestly. He wouldn’t be able to run my life now. At least I could make some of my own choices. I was sad he was gone, of course, but that nascent part of me that wanted independence was glad. And of course I suffered tons of guilt for feeling that way. I could never share it with anyone. Can you imagine how they’d have reacted?
It’s only now, 25 years later, that I actually understand. My own son is 12 now. The day he was born I knew just how much my father loved me. And, like my father before me, I’m letting my son visit relatives across the pond. Only this time he’ll be visiting my cousin and her family. And I won’t sit and tell him what a sacrifice it is to send him there. I won’t burden him with the knowledge of how I have to work overtime to pay for the trip. How I have to sell my soul every day to provide for my family. Because that’s what fathers do. He’ll never know how much fear I have in my heart that something might happen to him while I’m not there to protect him.
No, he won’t understand any of those things until he has children of his own. I didn’t.
And I’ll make sure he has a father to come back to. I saw how my father’s lifestyle killed him and I was smart enough not to follow in those footsteps. No danger of a sudden heart attack for me.
When I look into his eyes I can see the same contempt I sometimes reserved for my old man. In my childish arrogance I thought I always knew better. And dad was wise enough and loving enough to let me, sometimes.
My father used to watch his favourite film constantly. It drove me crazy. He loved it, but it was always an irritation to me. There was a line in it, though, that I keep remembering. The father in the film speaks to his wife.
‘One night of tending a sick child of their own will tell them more about love than any words of mine.’
How wise. And true. One night of tending a sick child of your own tells you more about a parent’s love than any words can ever do.
My reverie over, I place the flowers on dad’s grave. I’ve come here every year for the last 12 years to learn about love and fatherhood.
I can never be a better son than I was, but I can be a better father than he was. That’s his true legacy to me.
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Author’s note: This isn’t autobiographical, but a couple of elements were inspired by real life events. I certainly understood in the most intuitive way what a father’s love is when my own child was born. That was the first time I truly understood that I would die for – and kill for – another human being. A bit dramatic, that last statement, but I think parents will know what I mean!
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